Riddle of the Crime Lords
by The Paperback Righter
Summary: With everyone from the Riddler to Killer Croc safely under lock and key, Gotham is left with a power vacuum and thousands of armed thugs roaming the streets. But with mysterious phrases found scrawled around the city, it seems that someone is trying to seize control of the broken gangs. And on top of that, there's a stranger wandering around who has no place in Gotham...
1. Crash

A dark night, naturally. Could be funny, if it was a city that could take a joke. It was a place where a joke literally bombed. It was a place where a joke was more likely to take a life than raise a laugh. And the laugh was never a good sign.  
A siren. Movements in the alleys. Work to be done.

"Oh, no, no, NO!"  
Of course the TARDIS was malfunctioning, bless her, she was always malfunctioning. It had got to the point that it was a surprise if she didn't start exploding every couple of days (to the extent that days could be used as a measurement of time within the vortex). It wasn't even a surprise that everything was going hazy, or that the contents of the TARDIS library seemed to be rapidly filling up the control room. But it didn't mean it wasn't irritating.  
"Come on, girl, not today. It's just an easy trip, Eye of Orion straight through to Greenwich. You don't need to take a detour through Crazytown!"  
Not that she ever listened. She didn't do what she was told, she did what she needed to do. And it was still really, bloody irritating.  
"I mean, don't I get a break? I've hardly recovered from those vampires, and that was already following right on from the horse thing... not to mention Tenerife."  
Eugh.  
"I don't know what the appeal is. It's so boring. Just lots of sleeping, and sitting around, and talking to such stupid people..."  
Not that it was an issue now, what with the doors flying open and unleashing a sea of red and blue, swishing back and forth through the TARDIS.  
"It's in my hair! It's in my girly hair!"

The cops would find them eventually. Nothing more serious than a fractured limb between them, but they wouldn't be trying anything else for a while. Their almost victim would probably be more careful in future too – from the look on his face as he ran away, he wasn't going out at night again.  
The flash of blue in the alley signalled the arrival of the authorities. Time to move on. That whirring sound would be a good next stop. In a city like this, it could only be danger.

"Urgh..."  
Ok. Lights off. Doors wide open, giving a good view of the night sky. Lots of timey-wimeiness floating around. A distinct taste of purple. It was one of _those_ landings.  
"Where are we... this time?"  
The continued presence of breathable air seemed to be a good sign, although that usually meant more air for monsters and bad guys to breathe. Probably chasey bad guys, too. The sort who would bust through a door and ram straight through the hastily yet precisely laid trap behind it without flinching, take a whole room in one jump and be on you before you could reach the hallway. They were the worst. Well, the worst of the mindless hunters, anyway. It could get much worse than that.  
"It's Earth, right? I bet it's Earth."  
Because Earth meant a whole host of villains, ranging from the spineless quislings to the maniacal leaders and master planners. Sometimes they managed all three, which tended to seem like overkill, but a careful balance could be surprisingly effective in the right hands. Then again, anyone who could be described with a word like 'maniacal' was almost certainly the wrong hands.  
"You still there, old girl?"  
Nothing. The control room was dark, visible only from the light coming through that persistently open door. It was a good excuse, having the TARDIS unusable until the nearest threat could be resolved, but it wasn't good for her to act so recklessly in flight. As anyone worth listening to knew, the taste of purple was never a sign of good health in a time machine. Still, she'd probably be fine within the hour. Maybe less. For now, all there was to do was to climb out the door (a strange experience, given the interior's staunch insistence that it was the right way up) and take a look around. Meet the locals, find out if anything strange had been happening...  
"Alright, buddy, we both know how this is gonna go down. Turn around, and no sudden movements."  
...and run straight into a representative of the city's criminal underside. Fantastic.


	2. Doctor

"Come on buddy, hand over your wallet." The man seemed nervous. His eyes wouldn't stay focused on one thing, and his hand was shaking slightly – not enough to throw off his aim, the gun was very much consistent in its direction, but he was definitely agitated. Of course, that tended to be true of any armed criminals, but still, it was... different.  
"I haven't got any money."  
"Sure you have. Everyone's got money, man. Just give it to me, and I won't give you any more trouble."  
There was something in his eyes as he spoke – an unnatural panic, even for a mugger. Hard to place it, but there was something very off about the way he was looking around. His eyes were darting, scanning the area for unwanted company, and every few seconds his tongue whipped out to wet his lips.  
"What are you so worried about?"  
The man let out a short, sharp bark of disdainful laughter, and his wrist flicked up ever so slightly.  
"Whadaya think, genius?"  
He swallowed, his tongue flicking out again seconds later as he took a step forward.  
"One last chance, buddy. Wallet. Or I'll shoot."  
The gun was closer now, point blank, but his finger was barely on the trigger. He was not a man intending to shoot anybody. Up close, his eyes were even more frantic, wide and terrified, and, most bizarrely, looking _up_...  
There was a rush of air and the man was catapulted back into the shadows. Then followed a yelp, a thud, and a gentle clatter before silence once again took hold.  
"Um..."

The mugger sprawled unconscious, his head propped up by the wall of the alley. His victim was still stood, watching with a naive curiosity. Clearly from out of town – anyone with any sense would've been out of there by now. Although, speaking of curiosity – there was some kind of big blue... _thing _ on the ground behind him, spewing smoke out into the night. Too big to have been brought by hand, but no reason to believe it could move of its own power either. It was clearly his – the guy was leaning against it, one hand idly tapping its side. But something about it sent a chill through the air.  
"Are you ok?"  
The question seemed to catch the guy off guard – possibly due to the heavy shadows rendering him largely blind – but he recovered well.  
"I'm fine. I'm the Doctor, by the way."  
_The_ doctor? What gave him the right to call himself 'the'? He wasn't a cape, or at least not an established one, although his costume was certainly... unique. Hmm. Probably best to head him off before he got hurt  
"Don't try to be a hero, kid. Not everyone's got what it takes to be a cape, no matter how cool you think it'd be. Just get back to your normal life."  
The guy seemed amused.  
"I'm just looking for a quiet life."  
"Try looking someplace else."

Look somewhere else? That could only mean something exciting was going on here... It was time to find out what. Time for an adventure.


	3. Gotham

The city seemed somewhat unreal in the daytime. Sure, the sun was shining and the sky was clear, but the light never quite seemed to reach the dusty bricks of the buildings, and the shadows they cast held an unnaturally deep darkness. The few people who were out kept very much to themselves, shying away from contact with strangers. Especially the kind of strangers who wore bowties and tweed.  
"Excuse me, I'd just like to ask you a few questions..."  
The response was always the same - a quick shake of the head, an incomprehensible mumble, and a slight increase in walking speed in the opposite direction. It was disheartening, to say the least: to say a bit more, it was also rude and hurtful. Still, there had to be something behind it. The man in the shadows had mentioned a dark secret lurking beneath the unwelcoming atmosphere (well, not _mentioned _so much as implied. Or inferred, possibly, that was always a tricky word to correctly fit into a sentence.) Linguistics aside, there was a mystery to be solved, and quite possibly a bad guy to be stopped, neither of which could be achieved by standing around in a quiet street failing to talk to passersby. There had to be somewhere better to start researching.

British. The guy had definitely been British. Not much of a start, but better than nothing: there were only so many people per country, after all. He'd seemed oddly at home, despite his clearly foreign manner. And the blue box was drawing a complete blank.  
"Thank you for your time, Mr Wayne."  
Huh. The guy had finally stopped monologuing, and there was a look in his eye demanding an answer to something. Maybe if he'd thought to ask _before_ his half-hour droning on about whatever pipe-dream he was promoting, he might have had a better chance of receiving an answer.  
"And the same to you, Harold. We'll mail you our calculations later today."  
Thank god for Fox. Somehow he'd managed to keep his wits about him the whole meeting, no matter how dull it got. He was a valuable ally - not least because he knew both sides of the Batman identity, and put a considerable amount of effort into helping keep them separate. A quick handshake to the businessman - Harry something? - and that was it, clearance to leave to pursue a more useful and interesting line of business.

Aha. Gotham City Police Station, the ant-hill of justice in the magnifying-glass-wielding underworld of Gotham's criminals. It seemed like a good place to find out information, at least, and at this point information was the only way forward.  
"Don't mind me, routine unannounced inspection..."  
The psychic paper worked wonders in these situations, bypassing all security right up to the Commissioner's office. If anyone knew what was going on, it'd be him (or her, of course, although the name "James Gordon" on the door suggested it was probably a man). A quick rap on the door, and...  
"Hello, Commissioner! I'm here from the Special Crimes Division, and I need your help."  
The commissioner seemed surprised at the intrusion, and almost dropped the hat he held in his hands at the sight of a visitor.  
"To be sure and I wasn't expecting nobody!"  
He couldn't have been more Irish if he'd tried, and in fact the way he contorted his face as he spoke gave the impression that his accent was more forced than it needed to be.  
"I'm afraid the commissioner is out on private business, but I'll as be sure to help you any way I can. The name's O'Hara."

"Your schedule is clear for the next two hours, Mr Wayne. As far as anyone knows, you'll be locked away in your office with some very important work, and you can't be disturbed for anything short of the apocalypse."  
Once again Fox had come through. Two hours was plenty of time for investigating not only the stranger – he'd called himself the Doctor? – but also the strangely familiar graffiti that had appeared on the wall of the Wayne Enterprises building. For two hours, Batman would be operating.


End file.
